


Yusuf's Opus

by mybeanieandme



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni, artist Joe - Freeform, baroque art, bernini cries over nicky's nose, mischaracterization of gian lorenzo bernini, same bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25853590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybeanieandme/pseuds/mybeanieandme
Summary: Bernini is overwhelmed by the work of an up and coming sculptor named Yusuf.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 23
Kudos: 385





	1. Bernini's Wonder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelonelyotakugirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonelyotakugirl/gifts).



> Hey- other than Bernini being a genius from a young age- I do not know anything about him. It's been like 10 years since I was in undergrad art history and my masters in fine arts did not require it, so I flubbed a bunch of baroque-y stuff. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Inspired by this post: https://fetchmeabook.tumblr.com/post/626201246016126977/did-joe-ever-dabble-in-sculpting-and-if-so-are
> 
> Second chapter was added after great encouragement from the comments. Thank you SO MUCH FOR READING.

There was something Bernini couldn’t figure out that frustrated him endlessly. He had been praised his whole life for marble work, finding the softest folds and supple curves from harsh stone. People sat around his fountains living in the spaces, marveling at the scale. They had knelt beneath Ecstasy of Saint Teresa and wept with passion. 

But his work felt as good as as the crumbling pillars of the Colosseum- some ruins of former greatness- as he could never achieve the work of one Yusuf al-Kaysani. 

He seemed to come from nowhere at all, materializing from thin air with a body of work that surely could have not gone so long unremarked. Rumors flew as quick as whispers of the magical muslim man who captured human form in stone. Some said he was the son of an Arabian prince, others claimed he was directly descendent from the Pharaohs. 

Bernini did not care one way or the other, he wished only to know where he learned to capture such beauty as this. 

A warmth seemed to come from beneath the stone itself, you could feel the heart beating in every curve. The first one Bernini ever saw, brought him to his knees. The relief in his eyes, captured the soft shadow from the bridge of his forehead. The man in the sculpture was knight set to strike, so realistic in pose Bernini wished to fetch a scabbard. 

The gallery was full of this man- the same one- over and over- each one more beautiful than the last. He was heroic, and dashing, with kind eyes with a wistful optimism. His nose alone was worthy of endless tomes of quiet contemplation. The last of the sculptures was a man sleeping in repose, the eyelids carved so thin you could swear the eyes were moving behind them as he dreamed. 

Bernini held his chest, tears welling in his eyes. “Impossibile,” he gasped. 

“I’m sorry- what’s impossible?” a man asked, pausing mid step on his way past. 

Bernini turned to see none other than the artist himself. “You are Yusuf!” 

“Master Bernini, you honor me with your presence,” Yusuf bowed to him lightly but Bernini shook his head, reaching for his hand. 

“You are the master artist,” he said. 

“Signore-,” Yusuf shook his head but Bernini insisted. 

“You are the master- of all the works I have never made what you have made,” he gestured with a wide sweep of his arm to every stoney body in the room. 

Yusuf smiled wryly, perhaps reflecting on the truth of the statement- he could have never carved his Nicolo as Yusuf had kept him for himself. He and Nicolo were exclusive in every way. “My model does not work with others,” he agreed diplomatically. 

“Model?!” Bernini barked a laugh that startled both of them. “This man- is more than a man,” he seemed to not know where he was going, moving closer to the sculpture as he spoke. “You have- captured art in its purest essence.”

“Purest essence?” Yusuf truly did not know what he meant, he had merely done what his muse called him to do, create. Create the form that lived in his mind every moment of every day of every century of his life. They were always hidden away together, but the world needed to see his perfect Nicolo. 

“You have captured love,” Bernini clapped his hands together. “Unbridled love.”

Yusuf choked on his next breath, what a way to go- killed by a compliment from one of the greatest sculptors in history. Said sculptor hit him on the back jovially. “You must come to my studio! We must drink in celebration of your great accomplishment.”

Yusuf’s face must have conveyed a flurry of emotions, he already hadn’t meant to leave Nicolo for so long, he just wanted to watch people seeing what he saw in the love of his life. “My- model-,” Yusuf started. 

“He is invited as well- I must meet this model,” Bernini slung his arm around Yusuf’s shoulders and walked him out the door.


	2. Nicolo prefers the Baroque to the High Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolo remembers that time they knew Michelangelo before he meets Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the amount of gender essentials ramblings in this about the “perfect male form” and what have you. Men can look like however you want. My beanie and me both say trans rights. And we also say Michelangelo never saw a tiddy in his life.

Perhaps, Nicolo found the whole thing silly. Do not misunderstand, Yusuf’s art was perfection. It did funny things to Nicolo’s heart to be the subject of it.

Drawing, painting, etching, or sculpture- Nicolo swooned at the way Yusuf could bring forth forms from nothing. Perhaps, Nicolo thought it strange that Yusuf should capture him, as his time seemed to be as the marble itself, he was carved into the landscape, unshakable and unmoving. Surely sculptures were for commemorating important things that should not be forgotten, like great heroes or battles. He would tell Yusuf as such and Yusuf would simply smile and say, “You are such a thing.” 

When Yusuf had expressed a desire to learn sculpture, Nicolo had supported him wholeheartedly. They lived in Rome for several years during what would come to be known as the High Renaissance so that he might study under Michelangelo. It was a charmed period in their life they looked back on fondly, save for the reason they’d had to leave. In their centuries together, they’d learned that ten years was the most one could live in one place and look the same (maybe twelve, but you were pushing it.) In this instance, they needed not test the boundaries of the concept. Yusuf apprenticed in Michelangelo’s workshop for two and a half years, studying form, scale, movement, and contrast, the crucial elements that made art truly spectacular, when he asked if his friend might come see what they had been working on. 

Michelangelo had allowed it and that would be their downfall. It was obvious to Yusuf, that Michelangelo’s romantic intentions leaned towards men. He thought it was written as much with every stroke of his brush and curve of carved stone. Yusuf thought, perhaps misguidedly, it was why they had gotten on so well, they could talk for hours of the wonders of the male form and never be tired of it. The master sculptor, for his part, appreciated just how intimately Yusuf seemed to understand the anatomy of the male body, from the delicate details on the pads of a finger, to the strong musculature of the thighs and back. 

When Nicolo arrived at the studio that fateful morning, Michelangelo was smitten. Well, and truly. “This is the classic Roman nose,” he had marveled at the man, and the compliments only became increasingly flowery. By late afternoon, Michelangelo had invited them both over for dinner (Nicolo outright and Yusuf by obligation of him being their connection, and to Michelangelo’s great frustration, Nicolo’s insistence he wouldn’t go anywhere without Yusuf.) Michelangelo was beyond drunk by the time they’d managed to, politely as they could, escape his company. 

They’d left in the dead of night with no trace they had ever been there to begin with. Michelangelo awoke hungover the next morning, believing he had dreamed up the perfect man and wallowed thusly. 

When they moved back to Rome a century later, they were more cautious. Yusuf had picked things up along their travels from any number of master craftspersons and artists, even spending a month in France at a proper école d'art. But it was evident only a week in he was too good to be merely a student, and they offered him a position instead. 

When Yusuf burst forth onto the scene in 1650, he was a fully formed Artist but also an enigma. For the scale and magnitude of his work it was obvious he had a robust studio with a large space, but no one knew where it was, and only a select few knew how to get in touch with him.

When Nicolo was not modeling for Yusuf, he stuck close by in case he was needed, picking up odd jobs around the city for a day’s pay. It kept them in wine, bread, and oil. 

Their best and most common days involved Nicolo cooking them elaborate meals while Yusuf worked (he was really getting quite good at cooking and thought their next adventure might be one of his own in a culinary trade.) Nicolo would bring their plates in and spout endless praise in his softest Italian, marveling at how quickly Yusuf found the lines in the grain to mold to his every whim. 

Something stirred in Nicolo, seeing a stone version of himself so close to Yusuf, as if it were a mirror. Is this what they looked like together? He knew what it was to be held by him, but so rarely did he see it. How could one man love him so much as all of this? He knew it were true as he felt the same. He loved him unequivocally and fiercely. 

So he tried to take all of this into account when Yusuf had come home to tell him they had been invited to dine with Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Although the situation was different, the memory of Michelangelo flashed through Nicolo’s eyes. Yusuf caught it and reached for his hand. “I promise- he just wants to meet you, he has seen your face and he is already in love,” Yusuf kissed the back of Nicolo’s hand. 

“He came to the gallery?” Nicolo caught the excitement then, that was truly a compliment, he was one of those who had cried before St. Teresa. 

Yusuf’s face split into a grin, hugging Nicolo close, needing to funnel all the energy into something. He lifted Nicolo and swung him around with a growl. “The greatest sculptor in all of Rome, Nicolo!” 

“Then we must go,” Nicolo agreed as he was placed gently back on the earth, his head still spinning with the monumentous news. 

“He is sending a carriage for us a six in front of the gallery-,” Yusuf was already looking for his cleanest and nicest clothes. 

“We will have to bring him wine,” Nicolo’s face was set in a smile that just would’t break. The suggestion earned him a kiss and for a moment he had Yusuf’s full attention. He took the opportunity to kiss him more deeply, pressing their foreheads together. “I am very proud of you, amore mio.”

“It’s all because of you,” Yusuf insisted. 

The carriage was prompt and the ride smooth. It felt like a luxury they were rarely offered, how many thousands of kilometers had they trekked across this world in their years together? What great new inventions would propel them forward? Nicolo sat close to Yusuf in their secluded privacy, lacing their fingers together as they watched the world trot by. 

Bernini’s home was opulent in an understated way, he met them in the courtyard with a broad smile and warm handshake. 

When his eyes met Nicolo’s, he was struck with a face almost sacred, shaking his head in disbelief. “Bellissimo- perfezione- you are truly as he has captured you,” he shook his head, lingering a moment to take in Nicolo’s face, the blue of his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Bernini then turned to walk inside. 

They took this as an indication to follow him in, admiring the sprawling architecture of his residence. Dinner lasted many hours, neither Yusuf nor Nicolo could parse the shortness with which Bernini addressed his servants, wife, and eleven children that evening. 

It became evident when they entered his studio that he was frustrated by their inability to talk freely of art. Bernini had a childlike fascination with Nicolo’s form and its translation to the medium of stone. 

When it was clear Nicolo was in no danger (or truly- Bernini was in no danger since Nicolo could thwart a man a hundred different ways) of being mercilessly flirted with, Yusuf walked the space to look at every work in progress, from small charcoal sketches to quarter scale maquettes. He lost himself in a pile of architectural drawings for the Palazzo Barberini. 

The crinkling of the papers drew their eyes to him and Nicolo smiled. “Ah,” Bernini said softly. 

Nicolo turned to find him staring once more. “Is something the matter?”

Bernini chuckled and shook his head. “Here I have wondered these many long hours how one could capture such adoration in stone.”

“Signore-,” Nicolo said in almost the exact same tone of voice Yusuf had hours earlier. It was always so difficult to gauge how people reacted through the centuries to their love. But Bernini held up his hand. 

“It is as clear as the perfection of the Roman nose on your face that you two are deeply in love,” he stated as truth. He let it sink in and sighed to himself. “I know now I can truly never create such wonders.”

“Master Bernini-,” it was Nicolo’s turn to shake his head, vehemently disagreeing “Your works have moved me to tears.”

Bernini nodded politely as if to say this wasn’t the first time he had heard this and it wouldn’t be the last. “But what of it? What about the work brought the emotions? The scale- the movement- your connection to the saints?” He sighed wistfully. “Tis the mark of a great artist, to see his work and know his soul.”

His eyes trailed from Nicolo’s face to Yusuf in the distance, he was standing reverently beneath a study of Bernini’s drunken satyr.  
“I need only look at your sleeping form to know without ever having to meet you, the love he has for you. Your Yusuf has made a passionate body of work to stand the test of time.”

Nicolo did not know what to say. What were you supposed to say to so grand a statement? 

“Did I hear my name?” Yusuf was wandering back over and he mistook the look of relief of Nicolo’s face. Nicolo saw it happen, Yusuf was about to be heartbroken that they would have to run away yet again. 

“Master Bernini was just telling me he thinks your work can stand the test of time,” Nicolo said in a soft even tone and Bernini sighed. 

“Even in the way you speak it is evident,” he threw up his hands and reached for something that looked alcoholic. 

“Forgive me, signore, but what is evident?” Yusuf was hovering just close enough to Nicolo to feel his warmth without actually touching him. 

“Your art as a testament to love,” Bernini took a swig of the bottle and winced as the taste hit his tongue. 

A silence formed, not uncomfortable but present, as Bernini seemed to be contemplating something. Yusuf took the opportunity to dismiss themselves. 

“The hour is late. I fear we have worn out our welcome and I should get Nicolo to bed,” he bowed to his host. 

“Si, the hour is late,” Bernini’s eyes wandered to the window, the pale moon shining high above them. “You should bed your Nicolo,” Yusuf and Nicolo locked eyes in that moment, both biting back a surprised laugh. Bernini seemed to gather himself then, focusing his attention back on them. “But please return tomorrow- we are starting something new and I would cross all of Italy for your input!”

“You flatter me-,” Yusuf shook his head.

“No, no! I insist. Nicolo is welcome as well- you both are always welcome now here in my home,” he nodded his head a little off kilter, whatever in the bottle was stronger than the wine at dinner (which he’d already had quite a bit of.)

Bernini watched their eyes meet again, having a silent exchange that made him sigh wistfully again. Oh to be truly loved like this. 

“It would be an honor,” Yusuf said finally.

“Wonderful!” Bernini hoisted his bottle in the air. “I will send the carriage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I didn't expect to write more of this but then it happened and here we are. I hope you enjoyed it <3


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